After a rather long week, here is your dose of this phic. Oh, and I think no one needs any explanations as for the second scene of the phic, but still, I thought it was a nice Leroux touch. One of the many things I adore about Leroux is that he only reveals as much as he needs to people and turns the narrative into something completely different for the sake of saying nothing that would ruin the story for you.

Enough said. ;-P

X X X

Chapter 14

X X X X

For the rest of the week, Christine was immersed in her work. She wasn't very keen to face Raoul about having to cancel the weekend together, so she decided to leave it to Friday… which did nothing good for her conscience. Meg seemed strangely distant throughout the week and she was faced with a slight surprise on Wednesday, about an hour before she was going to hand over her finished article to Lefévre. Around midday, Lefévre himself stopped by – a surprising thing, considering the fact that the boss barely ever ventured to the offices or cubicles of the "little people". Christine, being the top worker, was probably an exception.

She thought it was Meg at first and was eternally glad that she didn't snap at "Meg" once it turned out to be her boss. He seemed to be in a quite normal grumpy mood and didn't cheer up much even as he entered and Christine smiled in welcome.

"I see you've taken a liking to the new office, Miss Daaé." He noted, observing how she had lined up her things and carefully organized her table within the hour. He didn't wait for her answer, however, and quickly sat down on the spare chair she had in there. From this, Christine saw that their conversation was going to be about work. "I'm here about the article you have on that composer, Erik."

Christine nodded and also sat down, "I have it ready, I was going to hand it to you after I finished today's work. I've got new ideas for the political section, a synopsis of terrorism – what it wants to achieve, the ideology… most people don't know these things."

"That is all well and good, but I'm here because of other things." The boss said in a very business-like voice that put Christine in her place unintentionally. Lefévre leaned forward a bit, as if this was a secret that no one but her could here and there were dozens of eavesdroppers within the room. "The management of Covent Garden has called and requested a meeting with you."

Christine frowned. "Why? I did everything according to procedure, they had no trouble with me, I don't know what…"

"No, no, not about that. They were very pleased with you, which is the reason they were calling, at least partially. They seem to have a bit of a problem with the press. Namely, the Sun."

"Joe Buquet again?" Christine asked, frustrated. Lefévre raised a thick eyebrow suspiciously and Christine felt color rush to her cheeks. "Raoul de Chagny is an old friend of mine and he's one of the patrons. He told me that they've had some trouble with Buquet´s pestering."

Lefévre´s eyes showed that he had comprehended a bit more than she wanted him to, but he didn't comment on anything. Instead, he almost acted as if she had said nothing and continued. "Buquet seems to want to demonize this whole collaboration between the opera house and the composer, simply because of his eccentricity. Sensations like this would be front-page material for them and Buquet has been searching high and low for anything that would support his theory of the hidden evil"

Christine nodded. Buquet was famous for this theory – he claimed that everyone who had something to keep a secret had some kind of evil reason for it or some scheme that they were plotting. Privacy meant nothing to him; he was out for scandals and specialized in what he called the unmasking of fiends. That guy had read one too many Marvel comic books.

"So what can I do?" Christine asked, "I can't persuade Buquet to stop his witch hunts, if that's what you're suggesting."

"The only thing that would stop Buquet is prison. But no, they want to make an official statement, which is where you come in – they have been pleased with your professionalism and thus want you to be the one to get their words to the press. You'll have to endure both of them and perhaps the secretary and the patrons as well," Lefévre continued and Christine flushed deeper, "but I believe you can handle it and it will be worthwhile. They want you specifically, this Friday, at 12:30."

Christine nodded enthusiastically. "Very well, I'll do it. It shouldn't be a problem. Seems that the opera house got very popular all of a sudden."

"Don't even mention that to me, Miss Daaé." Lefévre scoffed as he got to his feet, "These artistic types think they rule the world. Best to keep a distance from them, they might contaminate us all. Good day to you."

X X X

Christine scratched her chin with the pen she was holding. It was Thursday evening, she was at home, having already checked upon Mrs. Valerius, and she was suffering from writer's block. She had gotten the insanely brilliant idea of writing down something of her own creation again – not for work, but for her own pleasure, as a writer – and now she had no idea how to continue. Reading the Raven before attempting to write something in the style of the plays of Commedia dell´arte didn't seem such a good idea, looking back, she thought, and threw the pen on her bed.

Her phone rang unexpectedly and the first enthusiastic tones of her favorite monet brought her out of the grumpy mood somewhat. She was hoping that it wasn't Raoul, but she had told him she would be busy this week. The strange thing was, tonight was the first night Erik hadn't called her. It was always strange to sing with the phone turned on and listening to Erik's voice through it. The golden purity of his voice never wavered, despite the mechanical influence of the phone. And she sang piano, piano pianissimo at times, because she didn't want to anger the neighbors. Not to mention that it was much harder to sing quietly than loudly, but she was semi-proud of herself.

Perhaps it was the absence of the lesson that had driven her to read the dark poetry, she mused. Mentally, she slapped herself a moment later. You sound like Meg now. Next time you'll start daydreaming about Erik. She bit back a small laugh. All in all, she thought she was to be commended for not daydreaming about him. Most of the women she knew would probably melt upon hearing him say a word. Well, most women would faint before he could speak simply because he's actually nearby.

The phone continued ringing and already began the first line of the monet. Exsultate, jubilate! O vos animae beatae! Christine marched into the living room where she had left it and quickly gazed at the display. It wasn't Raoul or Erik… not even Meg… it was Jammes, which meant it had to be about work.

"Jammes, it's 9 p.m., what's going on?" she asked once she brought the phone to her ear and mouth.

"Holy cricket, Chris, where are you!" Jammes demanded, "There's one hell of acommotion, we've got front-page material! Lef says you're to get to Covent Garden right now!"

"What's this about?" Christine asked, ignoring the secretary's tone.

"BBC´s not giving their news report yet? Good for us, then – we've got a suicide." Jammes explained briefly, "Lef is already there personally, but he wants you too."

Christine tensed as Jammes hung up the phone without another word. Suicide. The very word was disturbing. She pocketed the phone and thanked God that she hadn't changed into her nightclothes yet. Quickly, she grabbed her coat and almost forgot her keys and her purse, being in such a hurry. Once her apartment was safely locked, she darted out of the building and into her car. She still didn't fully believe what Jammes had told her, even though she knew Jammes wasn't one to play such weird and cruel pranks. Besides, it did sound serious. It could be an attempt at a date with Raoul set up by Meg, at the very worst.

When she arrived, she saw that it wasn't so. She stepped out of the car and stared at the bright lights ahead of her for a moment. it wasn't a commercial or any kind of spotlight, however… Christine met a very gruff looking Lefévre at the door when the police tried to stop her from entering and the two of them got in pretty easily. Christine must have looked pretty quizzical, because Lefévre began explaining at once.

"Some stagehand found the body after the last of the audiences left, during the "clean-up". No one moved it, there was no need to check the pulse or anything, he was turning blue by the time anyone got there. Clean work, it was a hanging – one of the ropes from backstage, probably. Motive is questionable thus far, but I can tell you, it doesn't surprise me that much." Lefévre smiled grimly, "Buquet was always a bit of a nut. Guess he hung himself to make the front page, if he couldn't write it."

Christine winced and stopped, looking at her boss. "Joe Buquet hung himself here?"

Lefévre nodded. "Apparently, since his body was found. If it weren't so brutal, I'd say good riddance, but it's pretty nasty. It will be front-page tomorrow, though, so we'll have a night shift, it seems. You can take Monday off for this, Miss Daaé, I'm sorry to disturb you this late at night, but you wanted serious subjects – well, here you have it."

Under different circumstances, she might have laughed a bit, but Christine felt very grim at the moment. there was a whirl of activity all around them and she didn't even notice that they had already reached the scene of the "crime". She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach, hard, when she saw the limp body hanging from the railings of the stairs backstage. The rope was tied almost too neatly and skillfully, as she noticed once she overcame the horrible sickening sensation. But it clearly was Joe Buquet, still in his cheap suit, his bag thrown below him, as if he had been gripping it before he had hung himself.

Christine bit her lip and looked at Lefévre, who was watching her for a reaction. "I need to make a phone call." She said flatly.

Two minutes later, she was pacing in the office of the managers. Lefévre had left her alone, since he still needed to talk to the managers and perhaps to the police about this. Once the corpse was out of sight, Christine relaxed slightly, but she didn't dare open the window here, since she didn't want anyone to overhear her, even though she thought it was just her paranoia. After all, this night wasn't about her phone calls – there was a completely new spectacle at the opera house, away from the stage.

She stretched her hands a bit, taking deep breaths before taking her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed the number she had put into her address book under the initials AOM with a certain degree of happiness. Now, however, she kept counting to 10 in her head to calm herself. She waited several beeps before hanging up. A bit frustrated, she paced a bit and then dialed the number again, silently willing him to pick it up. She didn't even know why he was the first person that came to her mind to call, but she knew that Erik definitely had to know about this.

On the third attempt, she was successful.

"Erik, it's Christine." She quickly said, hoping that it was indeed him and that he had heard her. "There's been a great commotion at Covent Garden, apparently a guy from the Sun had hung himself here, there are policemen all around…"

"Calm yourself." She fell silent at once at the commanding tone, like a trained pupil. "There is no need to panic or slip into hysterics. I thank you for the information, mademoiselle, but I wonder why I was the person you have chosen to call about this immediately."

In her haste, Christine ignored the last word. "I wanted to make sure…" Make sure of what? "That you're alright. You said you'd be returning around Friday or so and I was just… worried, I guess. I don't really know. I'm sorry, it's just… I'm a bit out of my mind right now. This whole night has been strange."

There was a moment's silence on the other end of the line. "I'm… not one for words of comfort, but try not to get very emotional about what you have seen. It happens to most people when they see a corpse for the first time." Erik said it with a cool indifference, as though he himself had studied the effects of corpses on inexperienced people. "Why are you at Covent Garden, anyway?" he demanded suddenly.

"I'm a journalist – I get paid for bringing people the news. My boss asked me to come. Besides, I was to have an appointment with the managers tomorrow. I suppose…"

The sound of the door opening interrupted her, but she wasn't able to finish. Raoul almost barged through the door, clearly relieved when he had found her and quickly rushed to embrace her. Christine lowered the hand with her phone, hoping that he wouldn't ask her who she had been talking to.

"Christine, thank goodness I found you, Mr. Lefévre said you were here." He released her slightly, but his hands remained on her shoulders. "Are you alright? I've seen… him. It. It wasn't a pretty sight. I thought it might disturb you." He noticed the phone in her hand.

"I'm okay, Raoul, I just have to finish this call, please?" Christine said, backing out of his reach and turning away from him. Dealing with him now was the last thing she needed. His slightly hurt expression went unnoticed and she quickly returned the phone to her ear. She almost slipped and called him by name. Fortunately, she didn't manage to speak the first sentence.

He had hung up. Christine stared at the phone, a bit dumbstruck, but then a message arrived with a beep. She looked it up and read:

I see that now you are unafraid, being with our patron. Perhaps some time of separation shall help you determine what is important and what isn't.

She wasn't even able to stare now. That was it – completely cold and unemotional, no comfort or even an attempt to take her mind off this. Simply the statement that it was over until she would change her priorities. But… she hadn't planned this! There was no revolutionary thought that came to her head, however, and when Raoul touched her shoulder, she didn't react at all.

"Christine?"

It was over.

"Maybe I should take you home."

She wasn't going to hear from him again.

"We can return for your car tomorrow, I'll take you to our house, we have guest rooms ready 24/7."

For how long?

"Come, Christine." Raoul said gently, turning her to him. "We'll go."

She returned to reality at the mention of leaving and shook her head. "I'm here because of work, Raoul; Lefévre wants me to interview these people. This is going to be the biggest event printed tomorrow, if there isn't an earthquake or an attack, this is what is going to be front page. I can't leave now."

"Well, then at least let's leave for France first thing in the morning." He suggested, "You could use some time off and Lefévre said you'll be receiving time off for this."

"What about you? Aren't you needed here?" Christine asked, delaying the moment she would have to answer.

Raoul shrugged. "Phil's already downstairs, he can handle these things just fine. I'm the assistant, he's the boss."

Christine found herself nodding weakly. After all, she had been clearly told that she had to straighten her priorities. But… wouldn't this just make things worse? Wouldn't she just confirm that she was reckless? Then again, how could Erik find out?

She shuddered inwardly. Somehow, she had gotten used to the thought that Erik had eyes everywhere and knew everything, at least everything that took place under the roof of the opera house he was working at. She found such precision admirable, but right now, she was a bit uncertain about whether she liked it or now. Somehow, it made her nervous.

"Raoul," she sighed, "I've been meaning to tell you… I think we might have to cancel the weekend in France. I'm sorry."

"What?" he looked thoroughly disappointed, "Why would we have to do that, Christine? You said you didn't have any work – your boss confirmed it. What's the matter, is something wrong?"

"It's just… I can't leave Mrs. Valerius alone, her arthritis is worse than it has been, she needs someone at her disposal. I go to the grocery store for her things regularly and run a few errands. So you see, I really can't leave her alone. She needs me here." Christine invented quickly. But it wasn't that much of a lie… a white lie, at the very worst.

"Oh. I can understand that." Raoul nodded, but still had a disappointed look in his eyes. "I can understand."

"Raoul, believe me, I really wanted to go…"

The Viscount shook his head. "No, Christine. It's fine. Maybe it was a little forward of me, improper. It's just that I really want to spend some time with you."

"Then come with me to visit Mrs. Valerius tomorrow and we can go to the movies or something in the evening." The people pleaser in her won over. "And we can go skating again on Saturday or, or just go for a walk."

"Christine!" he chuckled slightly and Christine felt somehow relieved that he seemed to be himself again. "I believe you, I trust you. I accept both wonderful invitations." He took a few steps towards her and dropped into an old fashioned bow, taking her hand and kissing it. "It shalt be my greatest pleasure to show thou my love's measure, most gracious lady." Christine felt herself blush slightly again and relax a bit. That was a love declaration if she had ever heard one… and certainly the best one she had heard thus far.

Raoul straightened up and offered her his arm. She completely forgot about the message from Erik, for the time being, even the corpse of Buquet several floors below. This moment was to be savored and nothing was worth worrying over.

Nothing at all.